


WBY - Deathwish

by wildblueyonder6



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 12:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11509425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildblueyonder6/pseuds/wildblueyonder6
Summary: For the prompt Car Games – this veered a little “off course” but prompts do that sometimes.  It’s sort of the third part of my Trilogy so to speak.  Rules and Allowances.  Then My Mission is and now Deathwish.   The first was Sammy’s thoughts, the second John and now Dean. Hope you like. I don't have the first ones posted on Archive but will post them soon.  No need to read them though, this can be stand alone.  Also, this will contain spanking of a teenager.  Don't read if that bothers you.





	WBY - Deathwish

My dad was a hardass, he always has been. I knew that, Sammy knew that too. I bet if you asked Dad, he’d probably say the same thing. He had his reasons. The job was tough, we had to be tougher. Sometimes he would let me and Sammy know what the reasons were specifically, but most the time he wouldn’t. That was A okay with me; him running the show and me as his second. It took some of the pressure off really. I’ve always had my hands full watching Sammy. 

I love my little brother. He’s always been a great kid - but Christ when he became a teenager, he turned from a little pain in the ass to a big pain in the ass.

Literally.

When he was seven or nine and did something stupid. I could usually cover for him. Plus he was pretty freaking cute. Chubby cheeks and mega Sammy smile – especially when he lost his two front teeth. Couldn’t say any S’s at all. He couldn’t say Sam it was Tham. It was pretty damn hilarious. I remember when Dad was teaching him about introducing yourself and shaking somebody’s hand. “Squeeze nice and solid, son. Don’t be afraid to look that stranger in the eye.” Sammy would reach out all earnest and shit, squeeze the hand offered and say…” Hi, I’m Thammy Winchether.” 

Damn that was funny.

Right now though, I was not thinking funny. I was thinking stupid. 

See now that Sam was an all grownup teenager – well, I dunno, something had short circuited in his brain. I mean, I knew he was smart. Like astronaut smart but damn if he didn’t have some kind of death wish or something. 

Like right now.

For the past two weeks he’s been sulking around the house. Bitching and whining and moaning about Winchester rules and regular rules. It was stupid. There have always been Winchester rules and Civilian rules. But in this particular case Sam just had to blow it out of proportion because he was being a moron.

See, there was field trip to Washington DC that Dad wouldn’t let him go on. Because we were living in Maryland so, it wasn’t that far as the crow flies. At first Dad just said - no. For Dad, that’s all he needed to say. He didn’t think he needed to explain himself and honestly, he didn’t care. That just made Sam crazy. It’s always made Sam crazy. Instead of Sam just keeping the crazy to himself Sam started pestering Dad about how come he couldn’t go? Why? What was the big deal? Then he started with how wonderful it’s gonna be. They were going to go on a big fancy bus with a freaking toilet in it and everything. Then because it’s the debate club they were going to watch real lawyers debate real shit. Dad tried to ignore for a while, offered a few warnings of…”Sam, let it go.” 

Sam did for about 15 minutes. 

But Sam Winchester just never let anything really go. So he started again with the “Why Dad?” Like a damn bee that kept stinging or maybe one of those yappy little dogs that just wouldn’t shut up. At Dad? Honestly? The kid was so damn dumb some times.

Sam could argue with the devil. He could and he would. 

Finally, Dad had growled something about wasting perfectly good money on a field trip was not going to happen.

Sam said we have a perfectly good credit card so there is no reason why it couldn’t be used for him to go on his debate club trip. 

Dad had glared at him them. 

I could tell Dad was an inch away from losing his shit but did Sam notice? Hell no. He just kept right on carrying on. 

Finally, Dad just snapped. Stood up – walked over to Sam, grabbed him by the back of the shirt and turned him around and swatted him once. Just once - but it was hard. I could hear how sharp it was, right over his jeans. It wasn’t a spanking - just a wake up call. Although why Sam needed a wake up call when he had a father who had more than once made sure that the alarm was on and the snooze button was not an option.

“I said NO!” Dad kind of bellowed the last word.

Sam looked like he might just cry. Not so much from the smack but the emotion of the whole thing. Sammy was such a drama queen some times.

Instead he roared back, “FINE!” and bolted for our bedroom.

Asshole.

I might’ve been able to finance the damn trip myself if moron boy had talked to me instead of Dad. I mean it was just during the day and mostly while Sam was going to be at school anyway. 

Sam and I had managed to pull some shit off like that once in a while. 

I could be pretty sneaky if I thought that Sam had a valid reason for something or hell, who was I kidding, sometimes Sam and I both did stuff we really shouldn’t do, just because we could. Most of it, I doubt Dad really cared about – as long as we didn’t get caught. We snuck into movie theaters; we’d both been known to grab a five-finger discount once in a while. I had cut more school than attended. Sometimes that backfired because it tended to get me noticed. Dad didn’t like me making waves. I was a senior now but man; I didn’t think I was going to graduate. 

I was not looking forward to that conversation with Dad – but back to Sammy.

The thing with Sam is he didn’t even seem to care or realize that money was probably not the only reason Dad was not letting him go. I know for a fact there are some really pissed off ghosts associated with DC. Kid. You. Not. Politicians are even skeevyier dead.

But when Sam got himself in a hissy fit about something, you couldn’t change his mind and the best you could hope for was that if he moped, he moped quietly. I mean, Dad didn’t tell him there was another reason that Sam couldn’t go on his trip and just the fact that he gave Sam one reason was pretty much a miracle. So I didn’t get why he was still obsessing.

So anyhow, I just let the kid stomp off to our room with his swatted ass and wounded pride and self-righteous Samminess. There was not much anyone can do when Sam was like that. 

Dad just raked a hand across his head, leaving his hair standing up like a deranged rooster. 

For a minute I thought about trying to help Sam out. I even opened my mouth but Dad turned at me before I even said anything.

“Not another word.”

That pretty much settled it. I might be older than Sam and I might think I’m pretty grown up, but Dad has never much cared about ages when it came to dealing out butt whippings and he looked like he was on the edge.

I’ve seen him there quite a few times. I know when to push and when to shut the fuck up.

Shutting the fuck up.

So I backed off, hands in the air, perfect little Boy Scout for the moment. No use in poking an angry bear.

I thought that pretty much was the end of it. I knew we’d have to listen to Sam’s moaning for a while or maybe then again, we could get the silent treatment. I was kind of hoping for that one really. 

And that was sort of what happened. But it was short lived and then Sam kind of snapped out of it. Pretty quickly.

In retrospect, I should have known. I mean really…Sam giving up that easy? One swift swat and him calling it a day?

Nah.

XXX

I only had a half-day at school– something about Senior Go to Work with Daddy Day or something. Dad was working at a garage and as much as I loved working on cars, I didn’t need to be up the old man’s ass while he was working. It was perfect though, ‘cause Dad had asked me to change the oil on my baby. There’s not much that’s as relaxing as crawling under my girl. I’d done the oil change in a half hour flat and was trying to grab some lunch when the phone rang.

I picked up the phone still munching on my sandwich, a little surprised to hear Sam’s voice. 

“Dean, I have a problem.” Sam sounded a bit worried with an underlying hitch of relief – like he was so thankful I picked up and now I needed to fix whatever shit he managed to get himself into. 

“Yeah, what?” The PBJ was a little dry I opened the fridge with my other had looking for some milk to wash it down.

“Can you pick me up?”

I glanced at my watch, it was two pm. A full hour before Sam’s school let out. “I can be there in about 15. Why? You sick or something?”

“More like an hour and a half, maybe two because traffic is a bitch between now and six.” 

I chewed my PBJ with just a bit of irritation. “Dude, I could hop on one foot to your school in an hour and a half – backwards.”

“I’m not at school, Dean. That’s the problem. I’m in Washington. China Town really.”

The peanut butter was really sticking to my mouth – it had to be because I couldn’t form words. I doubted my brain was so slow that I just heard what I’d heard.

“Dean? Dean? Are you there?” Sammy sounded just a little panicked. 

“Did you say that you were in China Town, Washington, D.C.?”

There was a momentary silence on the other end. “Yeah, Dean. I did, and I’m running out of money for this call. Please meet me in China Town, out front of…” Sam stopped, obviously to check his position, “Mr. Lee’s China Village. Please, Dean hurry.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I just need to get home and I missed the bus. Please.”

“I’ll be there. And Sam. Don’t you move a fucking muscle. You hear me.”

“Yes, Dean. Please. I won’t leave.”

I hung up the phone.

Shit.

I looked at the Impala sitting out front – new oil change and gleaming in the sun. She was mine. Sort of. Dad could walk to work and I had use of her. Sort of. But it was expected that I would drive her prudently and you know, not to pick up my brother on a forbidden field trip in another city. It was two, I might be able to get Sam by three thirty and then maybe be home at five thirty. Sam was right – traffic in DC was hellatious during rush hour. It would be cutting it very, very close because Dad usually got home around 5:30 or 6ish. Not a lot of room for…well for anything.

Getting Sam home before Dad getting home was going to be tricky. But I was heading out the door and on the road to DC before I even thought it through.

Later, I would think that thinking it through would have been a better idea.

XXX

At least Sammy was where he said he would be. The little shit was just fine; he was standing on the corner eating Chinese food out of a take out container when I showed up.

“Get in.”

Sam jumped in shotgun and then gestured to whatever he was eating. “Want some?”

“No.” I snapped and glared at him.

Sam looked appropriately chastised.

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

Like that was going to make all the difference in the world.

I maneuvered the Impala back into the nightmare that was traffic in this city. Freaking hate Washington. For a while I concentrated on driving – DC is a nightmare, like I don’t know what dick designed it but he was probably demon spawn. There were circles everywhere and East and West and I would swear that none of them made any sense. 

I got some mad driving skills but navigating that city was enough to make a grown man start drooling. We finally made it out of inner city hell and got on the Washington Beltway which was even suckier. Then I started thinking Beltway and I start thinking of Dad – that was not a connection I wanted to make but now that I went ahead and done it- all I can think of was John Winchester and his belt. It was then that I decided to stop ignoring my shithead brother. 

“Dude – what in the Hell were you thinking?” 

Sam didn’t look at me, I could see him staring out the passenger window in my peripheral vision. “I just wanted to see Washington with my debate club. Why is that such a bad thing?”

He sounded so sincere you know, like a wounded puppy.

I tried to get off the Washington Beltway and scramble to 95. Not all that easy because East Coast drivers are dicks and the car games they play around here are just plain shitty. I like the Midwest, hell even the South but here on the East Coast, it’s like it’s every man for himself when you are driving. 

I decided to be a dick too because no one was letting me over so I cut off some shithead in a Porsche. With diplomatic plates no less. He flipped me the bird, I saluted him back.

Whatever.

“Sam, it’s not a bad thing, Dad just said no. Sometimes he just does that. It’s nothing new.” I stopped for a minute to concentrate so I could finish merging. “Uh, how in the hell did you get the money together?”

Sam ignored me.

“Sam.”

I guess I must have sounded like I meant business.

“Credit card.”

“Dad said you couldn’t use the credit card.”

“I didn’t say his credit card. I used mine.”

“Yours?”

“Well, not mine really, Marshall Tucker’s.”

“Oh, man, you’ve got to me kidding me – you opened your own fake account? Called yourself Marshall Tucker and managed to get a line of credit? I don’t know whether to disown you, smack you or be impressed.”

“Dad’s probably gonna do at least the first two when he finds out.” Sam kind of sniveled the last part. I really couldn’t blame him. “I doubt he’ll be impressed. He might think I have mad creative financial skills but probably won’t admit that until I’m forty and he’s telling this story to his grandkids.”

“Well, he still might not find out.” I couldn’t help it. When Sammy looks like that I kind of melt.

“Dean, you know he’s gonna find out. Somehow. He always does.”

I thought about it. I really did.

If we didn’t make it home in time, or if for some reason this all came out Sam was in for a take down of monumental proportions. Me too really. Because if Dad found out about Sam, then he would find out about me picking him up. Then I would be in trouble - not for getting him, but for not telling Dad that Sam had done something so stupid. I figured out his list of transgressions pretty quickly. 

Lying.  
Credit card fraud.  
Missing the stupid fucking bus in the first place.  
Disobeying a direct order. (That’s a big one for Winchesters)  
All of the above = butt kicking time – check, check and double check.

It was looking pretty grim.

Strangely enough though when we finally pulled in at 5:45, Dad wasn’t home. Sam looked at me. I looked at Sam and we both sighed audibly.

We made it in the house literally within minutes of Dad because he turned up not five minutes later with a large pizza box. He shouldered his way in the house, stepped over the salt lines without even a moment’s pause and dropped the pizza on the kitchen table.

“Dinner is served.”

Yes, Virginia. There is a Santa Claus.

XXX

Dad took the car to work the next day – something about wanting to take a look her up on the lift while he had one available. One of the perks of working in a garage I suppose. He left before Sam and I went to school, so I wasn’t too surprised to see him home early when Sam and I walked up to the house. His job was kind of flexible about stuff like that sometimes. His boss didn’t care as long as the cars waiting got fixed and maybe because he got in so early he left a little early.

I was more than a little surprised though to see him sans belt in jeans leaning on what passed for our kitchen table when we walked in. His belt wasn’t in his hands, it was sitting beside him on the table. I suppose most people wouldn’t notice something like that, but I did right away. I’d like to think it was my amazing powers of observation but I’m more inclined to believe that I was just waiting for the other shoe to fall. You see, that belt has always been a pretty good indicator on whether or not shit was going to hit the fan. Dad always wore a belt. Always. Unless he was going to bed or giving one of us a licking. It was much a part of him as the gun he kept against the small of his back, or the holy water flask he always had in his jacket. That lack of belt? It made a kid just want to back right the fuck out of the house. Sam almost plowed into the back of me I stopped so suddenly.

“Hey, Dad.” I tried to be cool, but it was kind of hard knowing that belt was out for a reason.

“Hey, boys.” Dad’s voice was low and even though I doubt Sam had noticed the belt, he did notice Dad’s voice. Sam shot me a look that said help, shit and run, run, run all in one flash. I know because I was probably giving him that very same look. Except I’m the oldest right? I’m the big brother and it’s my job to watch out for Sam so I kept the tremor out of my voice.

Mostly.

I nodded as nonchalantly as possible. “Everything okay?”

“Well, that depends on your idea of okay. I’m not bleeding out in a graveyard, that’s a plus. On the other hand, my children seem to think they can get away with something and that I’m not going to find out. That’s not okay with me. What do you think?”

“I think I’d like to know what you are thinking.” I tried to offer a grin, but it was shaky at best. 

“I think you better start talking.” Dad said quietly, and then because I guess Dad didn’t want to draw it out he just jumped in. “Where were you yesterday, Dean?”

Now I have to admit, that caught me a little off guard. I know I was wrong for picking Sam up yesterday and not telling Dad about it. I could paint it anyway I wanted to but the truth was, Dad told him no. Sam lied, stole and defied Dad and I let him get away with it. I was culpable. I got it. 

But it wasn’t my fault that Sam left and the way Dad was looking at me I had a feeling he was blaming me for everything. 

But the truth for me was going to kill Sam. There was no way I could back out of it. Dad asked me point blank where I was yesterday. 

“I was here, Dad, changed the oil on the Impala.” Wasn’t a lie but I knew damn well that wasn’t what he had meant.

He knew it. I knew it and Sam knew it.

“Dean. I don’t make a habit of repeating myself.” Dad’s voice was low and if you didn’t know him, you’d think he was just making polite conversation. Both Sam and I knew that voice. It was reserved for Winchester boys who were in hot water.

Covering for Sammy was not going to work.

“I went to Washington to pick up Sam.”

Dad nodded solemnly. “I appreciate your honesty. It’s a day late and a penny short but still a wise move on your part.” Dad turned his gaze from me and then narrowed his eyes in Sam’s direction.

Sam shot me a panicked look.

“Sam.” Dad didn’t say anything else and really that was enough for Sam. 

Got to give the kid credit, Sam racked his shoulders back and looked Dad in the eye, “I went on my field trip.”

“The one I told you not go on.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dad, “Anything else I need to know.”

Sam dropped his head then and I couldn’t blame him. He kind of mumbled the next part, “I used my own credit card.”

Dad quirked an eyebrow at Sam but it wasn’t pleasant query, “Come again?”

“Well, I used my own fake credit card. Marshall Tucker.” Sam jutted out his chin, defiant little piss ant. God, he was going to be the death of us both.

Dad took a deep breath. “Jesus, Sam. Running credit card scams when we need to helps keep us in food and gas…taking that kind of risk for a damn field trip? Especially one I forbid you to go on? What in the hell were you thinking?”

“I dunno. You do it. Dean has done it. I figured if you guys could weasel out some free money, I could too. And I did! I have a five hundred dollar credit limit!” Sam sounded almost proud, “I needed the money so why not?” 

“Because it’s dangerous is ‘why not.’ I have to be careful and really monitor what I’m doing to avoid getting caught. All we need is someone to check on Marshall Tucker and find out his address is the same as the fake name I used and that he is a fourteen year-old boy! How much of a neon sign do you want to put out in front of this family? Because that is just what you may have done.”

Sam wilted under the barrage. “I’m sorry, Dad. I figured if you did it, I could do it. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.“

Dad stopped then, “Do I look like an idiot? Better yet – am I raising an idiot?”

Sam sputtered. “No, sir.”

“You may not have thought it through all the way but you knew damn well it was a big deal. Are you telling me that you thought this whole scenario would be okay with me?”

“No, sir…I just didn’t think it was the worse thing in the world! I just wanted to go on a field trip!” Sam half cried and half whined the last part.

“A field trip where I told you NO!”

“Yeah because of money! So I found the money!” Sam seemed to get a second wind and he yelled, “You’re just pissed off because I figured out how to go on my field trip – and I didn’t need your damn money to do it!” I tried to give Sam my “shut the fuck up” look but he was having none of it. Yelling at Dad is never good. Especially when he’s already got his belt off. 

Dad reached over to Sam and it was a done deal. I mean it was probably a done deal anyway but Dad had Sam over the table with his left hand and somehow the belt had materialized in his right. He walloped Sam a good one then, right over his jeans.

“You think I’m pissed off you found a way to defy me?” 

Sam yelped but then yelled back over his shoulder, “Yes, SIR.”

Dad reached around, grabbed Sam’s jeans and unsnapped them somehow and pulled both his underwear and his jeans down in one shot.

Fuck. Bare. Assed.

I started backing out. “You stay here.” Dad didn’t have to look at me but I was the only one in the room.

“I can give you two some privacy.” I kind of tried to smile when I said it. Dad’s back was facing mine so he couldn’t see it anyway. It wasn’t a happy smile, more of a grimace. 

I took another step back and my dad did turn then. He glared at me holding Sam down easily with his left hand, as if he didn’t have a bucking fourteen year-old boy under him and then spoke just as quietly as before, “You move one inch more, Dean Winchester, and you will be facing the same consequences as your brother.”

I stopped all backward movement and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

I watched them both then as Dad laid into Sammy. I didn’t want to, but Dad was making a statement. He knew I hated to get my butt whooped but hated almost as much or more for Sammy to get it. Even if the punk kid deserved it – I still couldn’t stand it.

I could tell that Sam was still pissed, really pissed because even though he was crying already - they were those angry tears. He was still fighting Dad, which was dumb and futile but Sam kind of loses his mind sometimes so Dad just amped up the spanking and laid a few more licks. They sounded like scorchers and Sam bellowed then. 

“What am I pissed about, Sam?” Dad spoke quietly – loud enough to be heard over Sam’s sobs but not yelling. Sam shook his head. Moron. Dad brought the belt down again and I even though I couldn’t see all of Sam because Dad was in the way, I saw him jump and saw the quick red blush as his ass reacted to the belt. Dad gave him two quick licks. The last one must have turned a gear in Sammy’s head because his ass finally started talking to his upstairs brain.

“I disobeyed you. You told me no, and I did it anyway.” Sam cried some more then.

“Why did I say no?” Dad whacked him again, this time with what sounded like a little less force, I think. 

“I don’t know!” Sam wailed then. Dad gave him one more quick spank and then hauled him up by the shirt. 

He turned him around to face him and not for the first time I was glad my little brother liked his shirts big. I got no problem about seeing his ass or anything else, but most kids prefer a little privacy up front while they are getting blasted by their old man. Sam didn’t look like he cared at all right then though.

“That’s right, Sam…you don’t know and you didn’t know. And guess what, buddy, you still don’t know but guess again? I do. I do and I told you that you couldn’t go. That’s what you need to remember. I told you – got it?”

“Yes, sir.” Sam kind of blubbered the last part but I couldn’t blame him.

“Now you get up to your room and you stay there till I tell you different.”

Sam grabbed his jeans and underwear and bolted upstairs to our room. 

“Now for you.” Dad turned and looked hard at me. 

“Yes, sir.”

“One question. If I hadn’t found out, would you have told me?”

“No, sir.”

Dad ran a hand across his beard and then rumbled low, “I figured as much.”

“If you had run into a real problem, would you have told me?”

“Yes, sir.” I was as sure about that as I was the previous answer.

Dad seemed to think on it a bit. Mull it over. “So, what’s the appropriate punishment for you then?”

I was startled at this turn of events. “Pardon?”

“Well, if you were me, how would you handle you?” That seemed just a bit too Yoda-like for my Dad. I wasn’t used to him asking my opinion on many things, better yet, on how I should be punished. 

But he asked and Dad didn’t ask shit for no reason. In fact, I’m not sure he ever did anything without having a reason behind it. 

I thought carefully, “Well, since it involved the Impala – I’d say I’d ground me from her. Two weeks maybe. It would be a bitch in more ways than one. Dating without my girl? Not gonna happen. Walking to school? Lame. It would screw up my social life something fierce.“

“I like the sound of it. I’ve got your keys for two weeks.” Dad held out his hand and I pulled them out of my pocket. It wasn’t necessary really, if Dad said I couldn’t drive – I wouldn’t. It was more symbolic I guess, because he hung them on the key hook by the front door. I could grab them anytime I wanted to. 

I was grounded but Dad wasn’t dumb, emergencies happened all the time. 

It felt odd, punishing myself and it was a new one for Dad. But I never claimed to understand him; sometimes he just does weird shit like that. I think so we never really know what’s coming down the pike.

It was a little uncomfortable then – me grounded, my keys on a hook and Sam still crying upstairs, even Dad looked a little rough. My father would never apologize for whaling on me or Sam but I know he didn’t like doing it. He picked his belt off the table and re-threaded it through his loops then headed all the way into the kitchen turned on the water and splashed his face with it. I followed from a distance, not wanting to bug him but needing to know.

“So Dad, not to rock an already rocky boat but how did you find out?” 

Dad gabbed the faded kitchen towel and whipped his face. He seemed to consider my question. 

“I suppose I won’t be divulging any Winchesters secrets if I let you in on this one.” Dad leaned against the counter and I settled next to him, my hip almost touching his. He dropped his head and grinned slowly then looked at me, “I asked you to change the oil right?” 

“Yes, sir.”

“How often do we change the oil?”

“Every 3,000 miles.” I knew that answer – had known it since I was six.

“And how do we know it’s been 3,000 miles?” Dad questioned quietly.

I looked at Dad like he was crazy. But in a respectful – recently just averted an ass kicking way. Still it was hard to not roll my eyes. How did we tell 3000 miles had passed on the Impala?

“Look at the odometer.”

“So I looked at the odometer yesterday, noticed the oil change was needed and asked you to do it. I glanced at it again today at the shop. Numbers are way off. Simple math, Dean.”

Dad really grinned then, “That ‘s right, you’ve been ratted on by your girl.”

Dad looked up the steps and nodded toward our room. “M’gonna to talk to your brother now that he’s had a little time to settle down.”

That was Dad’s MO – he always wanted to end a punishment with a talk and a warm hand to the offenders neck. In this case his hand would be cooler since it was his belt that did the original talking but the principle was the same. He wanted you to know that he wasn’t mad, that you were forgiven but that you understood why he did what he did. I doubt he would ever tell either one of us why he didn’t want Sammy to go to Washington, he’d already made that clear. But the bottom line was that he gave Sam an order and Sam disobeyed it. Sam really didn’t need the post spanking talk, but he did need Dad. Sam would never admit that of course, but I couldn’t fault Sammy for that because I wouldn’t admit it either. Saying that you need to be comforted by your dad after you just got your butt handed to you sounded a little pansy assed.

I sighed, looked at my keys by the door, then out the window to where my girl was sitting shiny and sleek in the driveway. She’d been taking care of Winchesters for years and had never let us down, not once. I guess she had the right to rat on me. I hope she forgave me for the dumb stuff I'd done with her and in her through the years, just like Dad forgave us.

I forgave her too.

end


End file.
